by Michael Ward
‘Yes, Master Thomas. I was at the court when Mr Edmund and your mother arrived. Matty’s case was the second on. He looked awful small when he was led into the dock but he lifted his head and spoke well, with a strong voice. The judge read out the charge and called me as the only witness, as I had been the one to discover Matty in the warehouse. I told the judge what had happened.’
‘Did he ask what was in the bag Matty was holding when you caught him?’
‘He did, Master Thomas. I said it was five pounds of pepper. He asked would I swear to that and I said I would. He asked me how much five pounds of pepper was worth on the London Exchange. I said, "Not much… we’re lucky if we can give it away since the Chancellor ruined the market.” Well, that caused a right hullaballoo. The judge was not best pleased and said he had a good mind to lock me up for sedition. I was worried for a moment, Master Thomas, I can tell you, but he let it pass.’
The value of the stolen spice was a vital piece of evidence. Anything more than forty shillings and the crime would be too serious for Matty to claim benefit of the clergy. Cinnamon cost forty shillings a bag; pepper less than a quarter of that. Tom had been unhappy asking Isaac to lie in court.
‘Isaac, how did you feel about saying it was pepper?’
‘I was worried when you first asked, Master Thomas, but I found a passage in the New Testament where God makes it very clear we should never take oaths. It was from the Gospel of St Matthew and I took that to be a sign, being Matthew. When the judge asked me if I swore it was pepper, I said I did, because I would have swore it was apples, if I felt like it. It was God’s work to disobey that pledge.’
Thank the Lord for the New Testament. Isaac’s conscience, and his own, were clear.
‘The judge asked Matty if he had anything to say. I was afraid he would read out the verse there and then, but he did what your mother had told him and waited to be handed the Bible. The judge asked if he wished to take the benefit of the clergy. Matty nodded.’
Isaac paused, his face flushed with excitement. Their food had been served but lay untouched on the table.
‘Go on Isaac. What happened?’
‘Well, Master, it was over in a moment, before you knew it. Matty was taken to the Bible and the verse pointed out to him. He looked at the page carefully before reciting it, clear as a bell, being careful to follow the words with his finger, as Lady Beatrix had told him. I could see Her Ladyship across the court as Matty spoke. She was reciting the verse herself, under her breath, and when he finished she clasped her hands together and looked fit to burst. Then, when I believed all was completed to our satisfaction,’ Isaac said flatly, ‘everything went to shit.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The judge had listened to Matty read his verse, nodded and said it all appeared to be straightforward. The defendant Matthew Morris was caught in the act taking five pounds of pepper from Tallant’s warehouse and was guilty of theft. However, because of the value of the stolen property, the defendant had been offered the benefit of the clergy which he had proved to the court’s satisfaction. Then Matty started shouting, “No, I did not take anything. I took nothing.” Your mother was frantic, signaling to Matty to be quiet but he was not looking at her.’
‘What did the judge say?’
‘Well, he looked amazed and then furious. He banged his gavel and told Matty this was the verdict of the court and if he did not like it, he could swing after all. Still Matty shouted. “I don’t tell lies. I wasn’t going to take nothing, I told them.” Lady Beatrix and I were in a panic. Any minute now, I thought, the loon will talk his way on to the end of a rope. Your mother looked in despair over to Mr Edmund. He stood and asked permission to address the judge, and spoke most handsome. He said he was an old friend of the Tallant family who, in your absence, had taken the liberty of arranging lodgings and employment for Matthew Morris if he was released from court. He offered his personal guarantee for the boy’s future good conduct should the judge see fit to overlook this outburst. It was, he was sure, because the defendant had been overwhelmed, appearing before such an… an “august", that was the word, such an “august" court of law. Well the judge liked that, and it quietened Matty down as well.’
Tom frowned. Why was Matty still insisting he hadn’t meant to take anything?
‘His Lordship asked for Edmund’s name and the address of the lodgings,’ Isaac continued, ‘and passed sentence of branding on the thumb and release from court custody. Matty was taken down below and it was all over. The clerk of the court waved Mr Edmund over while the next case was being set up and I escorted your mother from the room. Ten minutes later we met outside the Bailey. The clerk had wanted more details about Mr Edmund, including his address and occupation. He found out from the clerk that branding would take place in the Bailey straight away and then Matty would be released through a side gate. We went to the gate and waited another fifteen minutes.’
‘How was my mother during all of this?’
‘Edmund and I could see that Lady Beatrix was becoming fatigued, Master Thomas, so he suggested I went back inside to see what was happening. A coin in the palm of a court official got me straight to the punishment room. Horrible smell it had. Burnt flesh. A guard checked the ledger and said Matthew Morris had been marked over thirty minutes ago. At that point, another cove wearing an apron walked out of the back room and said, "A brave young’un he was too. Hardly a whimper. Like he was resigned to it. And he didn’t hang around. Some of them faint and have to sit down. He was off like a rabbit out of its hole. Ran up the cellar steps he did.”’
Isaac took a swig of ale. He stirred his bowl of cold pottage before pushing it away.
‘And we have not seen him since, Master Thomas. None of us. Your mother was upset and this made Mr Edmund cross. Called him an ungrateful little swine. That was over a week ago. We’ve been checking his lodgings and I've walked around Thames Street a couple of evenings since, when I’ve had the time, but nothing. I think Lady Beatrix has got over it. Before I left for Dunwich, she asked me to tell you not to be too worried. Everyone has to follow their own star, she said.’
There was a noise behind them. It was Sir Ralph.
‘Are you two still here? I hope you are not in drink, Tom. It’s time to be elected.’
Chapter 21
20th October 1640
St Paul’s Cathedral
Barty Hopkins bent down with difficulty to examine the floor. His breeches strained under the spread of his ample girth as he rummaged through the scraps of paper at his feet. Flushed with effort, he picked one up, straightened his back and read it carefully.
‘Oh my, what have they done? What have they done?’
His face, usually alive with merriment, was creased in concern.
‘How could they? In St Paul’s!’
Tom turned to a pale young cleric standing next to them. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Less than an hour ago, sir. I was in the vestry when I heard a great commotion inside the cathedral. I entered the nave and was knocked off my feet by two men running past. It was madness, sir, thirty or more ruffians, running up and down the aisles, shouting insults about His Grace the Archbishop. They ransacked the bookstore and pulled out the Book of Canons, ripping them to pieces, throwing the pages in the air. They destroyed both volumes, in English and Latin.’
Barty stirred the paper at his feet with his shoe. ‘Disgraceful… quite disgraceful.’
The cleric sat down wearily on the edge of a pew. His voice began to tremble.
‘They set about the altar, pulling the rails out of the floor and jumping on them until they were broken. I was afraid they might set light to the cathedral, but no sooner had they arrived than they left, a swarm of angry bees, out of the main door… leaving this desecration.’
The young man wept and Barty put a consoling arm around his shoulder.
‘My good fellow. My companion and I are both Members of the new Parliament. You can rest assured we will bring
this appalling act to the attention of the appropriate authorities. You have my word on that!’
Barty raised one eyebrow at Tom and nodded towards the door. They stepped into a chilly breeze. Rain was coming.
‘Did you mean what you said back there Barty, about raising this in Parliament?’
‘Not really, Thomas. What would be the point? Churches are being attacked all over the country, and now St Paul’s. Trouble is, it is entirely possible some of the Members are behind this. Each new Parliament seems to produce more rebellion and unrest.’
They strolled from the cathedral towards St Paul’s Yard. Barty had suggested they meet to celebrate Tom’s election in Dunwich. He too had regained his seat and both would be in the new Parliament in three weeks’ time. They had been lunching on the Strand when they heard a rumour about the attack on St Paul’s and came to investigate.
A group of men wearing large cloaks approached. Tom sighed. Pamphlet sellers. They would get no peace now until they reached the other side of the cathedral yard. Before he could suggest they try another route, Barty beckoned a tall figure. The man listened, nodded and reached into his cloak bag for a pamphlet. Money changed hands and the man moved off promptly. Barty did not move. He was reading the pamphlet intently. Tom approached his friend.
Barty looked thunderstruck. ‘It’s true. I do not believe it.’
‘What’s true, Barty?’
‘This.’
He thrust the pamphlet into Tom’s hands. He straightened the crumpled paper and read the headline. “England’s Complaint to Jesus Christ against the Bishops canons”. He scanned the page quickly but could not see what had upset Barty so much.
‘Barty, what is it? What does it mean?’
Barty walked briskly down St Paul’s Yard towards Cheapside, muttering under his breath, not waiting for Tom who hurried to keep pace.
‘They have gone too far, this time, Tom. Much too far. This must be stopped.’
Barty stopped, breathing heavily.
‘I was told about this pamphlet yesterday but I needed to read it with my own eyes. The writers of this… this poison are accusing His Majesty of being in league with the Devil, of… of allowing a popish plot to grow in the heart of Whitehall, of allowing Catholics everywhere in Government. I am told if you read it carefully which, by God, I will, it suggests the people now have a right to resist His Majesty because he has broken his covenant with them. This is treason! Tom, I must go and tell others. Forgive me, this is too urgent. I enjoyed dining with you very much and look forward to seeing you at the opening of Parliament, if not before.’
Barty Hopkins set off down Cheapside as fast as his short legs would carry him. Tom looked at the receding figure and recalled his chance sighting of him with Robert Petty at Lambeth Palace. Perhaps they were both working for the Government? Barty was certainly connected to Henry Jermyn. Who were the ‘others’ he must tell? He realised he was still holding Barty’s pamphlet. Tom glanced at the page as he folded it. Something familiar caught his attention. The page started with the letter “T", printed in a large ornate design—identical to that used by the Perfumed Press.
Tom flushed inwardly as he studied the sheet. Stone Face was back in business. But how? And when would Jermyn realise this? God’s wounds, had he missed some of the print blocks when he and Edmund raided the cellar? He searched his memory of that night but could not think beyond the sneering face of his pursuer cursing him at the entrance to Moorgate.
Tom set off down Watling Street at a brisk pace trying to put the matter out of his mind. He was back on Thames Street within ten minutes. He turned down the passage towards the warehouse and saw Andrew in the front yard brushing Meg. The horse whinnied softly and pawed the ground as Tom approached.
‘Not today, Meg. I will take you out in the morning. How are you, Andrew?’
Brush in his hand, the groom said, ‘I am well, thank you, Master, but same cannot be said for Isaac.’
‘Is it about Arthur. Has he news?’
‘He has, Master. Arthur has been released from Newgate.’
‘Thank the Lord for that,’ Tom exclaimed. Then he saw an expression of concern on his groom’s face. ‘What’s wrong, Andrew?’
‘He cannot walk, Master. Arthur cannot walk or use one of his arms. Can hardly sit for the pain. They racked him, Master, in Newgate. Isaac says on the first day he was locked up, they racked him and left him to rot in a cell. His legs and arm were pulled all out of place. They released him because they needed the space. Isaac is right upset about it, Master. Says they are devils.’
Andrew bent down and slowly brushed Meg’s pale flanks again. Tom could feel the colour rise in his face as his anger boiled. Damn Henry Jermyn! Did he know the boy had already been tortured when he struck his deal with Tom? That they’d already got everything they could out of him? Tom would not bet against it. What was it Jermyn had said? “The boy will continue to be held in Newgate but you have my word he will not be interrogated.” No need when he had already been racked, and then not given any medical attention either. Elizabeth was right. What a bastard that man was.
Tom went to the front office. Sam was hunched over his ledgers.
‘Good afternoon, Master Thomas. Is Sir Bartholomew well?’ Sam had recovered his cheery equilibrium since he knew the Perfumed Press was no more. He clearly had not seen Stone Face’s new pamphlet.
‘Fair to middling. Sam, I have heard about Arthur. Is Isaac here?’
Sam’s face clouded.
‘No, Master, he is with his sister and Arthur. I hope you do not mind but I said he should go. He could not think to work. It’s dreadful cruel, doing that to a boy simply for banging a drum.’
‘No, Sam, you did the right thing. Please tell him, from me, to take as long as he needs. We can manage until he gets back.’
‘Thank you, Master Thomas, he will be glad of that.’
Tom was considering whether he should visit the Uffords when Andrew Lamkin walked in from the wharf side, his face stilled by shock.
‘Andrew, what is it?’ Tom asked.
‘You’d better come out to the wharf, Master. Right away.’ Andrew stepped out on to the wharf followed by Tom and Sam. The berth nearest the warehouse was empty and the young man was staring at the water’s edge. Tom looked around the quay but could see nothing unusual.
Sam stepped forward. ‘Come on Andrew, what is it? If this is one of your pranks—’
‘I came out to the wharf, as you told me,’ Andrew interrupted, ‘to prepare for the next ship coming in. I cleared the sides and was checking the mooring posts when I saw someone had left a fishing line tied to a post. I took a look and saw the float bobbing on the water. I was thinking that could foul a rudder, that could, so I got hold of the line and hauled it in. My luck was in. We’d had a nibble. Weight on this line. Fish for tea. But it wasn’t.’
Andrew looked blankly at Tom.
‘Well what was it, Andrew?’ Sam exclaimed impatiently.
‘Best see for yourself.’
Sam pushed past and looked over the wharf’s edge. He pulled in the line, water dripping from his broad freckled hands onto the quayside. The float came first. Sam briefly examined it, frowning, and then continued pulling. The line gathered by his feet in a wet pool as he got down on his hands and knees and leaned towards the water’s surface.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Sam whispered. He straightened his back and, still kneeling, slowly pulled something out the water. Sam swung it onto the boards of the wharf. It was a human hand, a left hand, palm-side down and severed at the wrist.
‘My God,’ Tom said. ‘Is this someone’s idea of a hideous joke?’
Tom pushed the hand with the end of his shoe. It was grey, flaccid and marked by feeding fish.
‘We will have to inform the constable, though I have no idea how they will trace the owner, poor soul.’
Tom gently flipped the hand with his boot and got down on his haunches. He studied a brown mark on the wrinkled thu
mb.
‘Looks like it might have a birth mark. That could help.’
Sam crouched down next to him.
‘Master Thomas. That’s no birth mark. I have seen it on men before. It’s a brand—to show you’ve had the benefit.’
Tom’s eyes swam. The sound of his rapid heartbeat filled his head. A distant voice was shouting, ‘No, no, no, no…’ He felt his gorge rise and the world went black.
He awoke in his room. Sam was sitting by his bed and offered him some small beer. Tom lent on his elbow and sipped a little.
‘Are you all right, Master? You took quite a turn there.’
Tom pictured the grey hand again. It must be Matty’s.
‘It’s from someone who’s had a neck verse brand,’ Sam said. ‘Always on the inside of the thumb. Looks like it belonged to a young man, from its size. Hard to tell what the skin is like but it’s not seen hard labour. No scars or cuts.’
It could be a coincidence, but Tom knew it was a hollow hope.
‘Master, there’s something else. I hardly know how to tell you.’ Sam leaned back and rummaged in his jerkin pocket. ‘Tis the float.’
He pulled out a dirty rag and unwrapped its contents. Tom held out his hand and Sam gave him a damp piece of wood. He turned it over and found himself looking at a familiar piece of printing type—a letter “M" with an ornate pattern carved around it.
Chapter 22
21st October 1640
Shovel Alley, East London
Tom shuddered. The immense stone walls of the Tower of London bore down on him through the early morning mist.
He was near the foot of its east wall, close to St Katherine’s Church. Shovel Alley was the address Edmund gave in court for Matty’s lodgings. Matty had not been sighted there since he disappeared, but it was the only lead Tom had. It was a short walk from Tom’s warehouse but in a district he did not know well.
The church was surrounded by a warren of grimy back alleys and gloomy courtyards with names like Pillory Lane and Dark Entry. Tom walked past a jumble of tenements and walkways before finding the address he sought. It was quiet, too early for the local whores and petty thieves to be up and about.